


Variations

by Laure001



Category: Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms, Pride and Prejudice (1995), Pride and Prejudice (2005), Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-03-27 19:35:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13887702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laure001/pseuds/Laure001
Summary: Lizzy Bennett has been turned into a frog by a warlock. Only a True Love's Kiss can make her human again. Darcy kisses her, it works. So? End of the tale, right? Not with these two…(Complete.)





	1. Girls' Night

**Author's Note:**

> Variations is a collection of independent Pride and Prejudice stories. I just posted the second one, **"The True Love's Kiss"** \- (See chapter two.) 
> 
> For more Pride and Prejudice stories, visit my Amazon author page!  
> https://www.amazon.com/Laura-Moretti/e/B07B3W5Y9R/ref=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1
> 
> All the stories are edited by my gentle and witty editor, InchbyInch!

“Why isn’t Willoughby retweeting me?” Marianne asked.

“He will,” Marianne’s sister Elinor answered in a calming voice.

Emma – the hostess – chose that moment to replenish the drinks. It was not the first time – let’s just say that a hefty dose of alcohol had already been consumed this evening. Girls Night at Emma’s extremely expensive apartment in London was an occasion for embarrassing stories and quite serious drinking. They had all met as participants in a study abroad program in Paris as college students, and since then they tried to get together every December… There was Emma, of course, she was always the one to make those reunions happen. Then there was Elinor who brought along now her much younger sister Marianne – who had spent the night on her phone, tweeting to John Willoughby (who didn’t retweet,) WhatsApping John Willoughby (who didn’t answer,) now she was actually in the process of texting him – but enough about Marianne. The other guests were Anne, sweet Anne, who generally showed up early to help with the cooking and did all the dishes after, and Mary with her career advice and healthy cynicism – _she_ never helped with the clean up. 

Then, of course, there was Nawel.

Nawel was always the life of the party – so clever, always kind and funny. Emma called Nawel “Elizabeth”, because – well, long story, related to a student prank – better forget about it. This was a special occasion, because Nawel had been absent for three years in a row – and much had happened.

The girls were all around thirty now, most of them were married, or at least in serious relationships, but they kept the tradition. They always found new topics to talk about, and the main one tonight, launched by Anne at the beginning of the soirée was… fate. Or destiny, or whatever.

Anne’s actual sentence had been, “there is no randomness in the universe – everything is written in advance.” Emma had scoffed, Mary had called the idea “preposterous” – but Nawel, who was generally on the side of rationality and reason, had a moment of hesitation.

“Well, normally, I would disagree,” she said. “But since I met William… I must admit, I may have thought about fate once or twice.”

“Oh no!” Mary protested. “Nawel please! Don’t drift to the dark side.”

“The romantic side, you mean,” Anne intervened.

“Willoughby and I were destined to meet,” Marianne chimed in – but everyone ignored her.

“Come on, Nawel,” Emma protested. “Please tell me you don’t believe in destiny…”

Nawel was weirdly embarrassed – she even blushed a little. “There are some interesting theories about the non-randomness of the universe,” she countered. “After all, Jung has talked about synchronicity for years. He made some valid points.”

“And Emma – don’t play the cynic,” Elinor said with a smile. “I remember you spouting some very romantic nonsense when you first got together with George.”

“I was not talking about fate!” Emma protested. “Just, you know.” She smiled, then bowed with a theatrical gesture. “True love.”

Cheers, some applause and a few graphic jokes accompanied that comment.

“You married your next door neighbor, Emma!” Mary protested. “That’s not destiny. That’s geography.”

“Stop discussing philosophy!” Elinor protested. “I want to know about Nawel’s new guy. Who is this William person? Is he good enough for her? Has anybody met him?”

“I have,” Emma announced.

“Do we approve of him?” Mary asked.

Emma had a mysterious smile. “I think you all have to hear the story first.”

“Oh,”said Elinor, “there’s a story?”

“There has to be one,” Anne said. “We hardly see Nawel for three years – and suddenly she is back in Paris, living with a man…”

“Married to a man,” Mary corrected. “Right? So… Elizabeth. I mean, Nawel… Drink your wine… there – finish it – that’s a good girl – and now tell the story.”

It was a story Nawel was perfectly happy to tell. Emma replenished the glasses – again – and everybody drew their chairs closer – except Marianne, who went back to texting.

“Why doesn’t he answer? And Brandon keeps forwarding me stuff about music,” she grumbled. “Maybe Willoughby lost his phone. Or his battery died.”

“Oh, absolutely, Mary snickered. “Willoughby’s phone died. That is the ONLY rational explanation, when a man is not answering your messages.” Marianne looked confused, Elinor sent Mary a dark look, which was thoroughly ignored. “Nawel,” Mary ordered. “Talk.”

Nawel took a new sip, then obliged.

“Ok, so, you remember… when I finished my degree, I went back to Algiers to open my practice,” she explained. “Behavioral psychology. I already saw myself – a schedule full of famous clients – a beautiful new car – living in a cosy little house near the beach, no far from my sister’s and her kids… My father bragging about me in all his seminars, my mother finally shutting up about money and all those nice Muslim boys I keep saying no to…”

“Your mother will never shut up about money,” Emma declared. She had spent quite a few holidays in Algiers, with Nawel’s family, and had a great time – but man, they were LOUD. “Even if you married a prince. Which you kind of have.”

“Oh, this is intriguing,” Anne said, smiling, and even Marianne raised her head from her phone.

“A prince?”

Nawel laughed. “Not a prince – but William is from a very old family – a French one. The D’Arcys. His real first name is Guillaume, but as he travels a lot – some expat in Cambodia began to call him ‘William’ and it stuck…”

“The D’Arcys… Nobles, I suppose?” Mary asked.

“Very much so. So William was – he _is_ working for the French government, overseeing subway construction all over the world. Three years ago, he was living in Saudi Arabia developing the RATP investment’s there when he decided to end his marriage – after less than a year. The divorce was messy. I met his ex-wife, and I know it’s such a cliché, the new wife hating the ex-wife, but I swear, she is awful.”

“Oh, we don’t care about clichés,” Mary said. “We are all ready to hate her for you.” She raised her glass. “What’s the ex-wife’s name?”

“Caroline.”

“To hating Caroline!” Mary said, and everybody cheered. “Ok, back to Prince Charming.”

“Prince Unpleasant would be more accurate,” Emma corrected. Then she waved her hand. “You’ll see. Keep going, Nawel!”

“William was devastated – he realized how much more Caroline had always loved his money and his social position more than she had loved him – he was kind of depressed for a while.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in depression, Nawel,” Elinor said. “You said happiness cured everything.”

“I did?”

“Oh yes, do you remember…” Elinor got into a detailed retelling of a conversation they had when they were nineteen, after a long night of dancing, where they had talked about love and Nawel, it seems, had declared that depression and being in love were artificial concepts invented by humans to make themselves interesting.

“Oh my God!” Nawel cried, horrified. “Elinor, I officially apologize. I was such a fool.”

“Yes, let’s tell all your patients that depression doesn’t exist,” Mary proposed. “That ought to go well.”

“Oh come on,” Nawel protested, smiling. “It should be forbidden to remember all the silly things your friends said when they were not even twenty. There should be an obligatory amnesia! Or, you know, at least a statue of limitation or something.”

“We don’t care!” Anne cried. “Back to the romance! What happened with your guy?”

Nawel laughed. “Well, William was in bad shape, and he wanted to quit. So his best friend there, Richard, intervened before he made a mistake. He talked William into staying with the job, but with a a change of scenery - a random change of scenery. So Richard printed a list of all the RATP missions William could apply too, they got a little drunk, William closed his eyes and pointed to the list to choose a country… and that is how he ended up in Algiers.”

“See! See!” Anne perked up again. “Destiny! It was your fate to meet. Oh my God. That is so romantic.”

“It is,” Marianne said – who was listening again. “So what happened? He saw you – and – was it love at first sight?”

“What happened,” Nawel said with a wry smile, “is that two days after his arrival, William was already HATED by everyone. He had entered the Algerian offices in a sour mood, and told Charles – the RATP director for. there – that it was just his luck he had ended up in this God forsaken place.”

“What? Algiers is beautiful,” Elinor protested.

“It is,” Emma agreed. “But it just happens that Nawel’s prince is a little bit of a snob.”

Nawel nodded. “He is.”

“The poor guy,” Anne protested. “Cut him some slack! He was heartbroken! Arriving in a new country, all alone.”

“Well he did fall in love with Nawel, didn’t he?” Mary commented. “Which proves elite taste. Sometimes snobbery can be useful.” 

Elinor furrowed her brows. “But, wait… Were you working at RATP, Nawel? I thought you had a therapy practice.”

“Ah, yes. My practice. I did open it. And made NO money. As it happens, it takes years to build up a clientele, who would have thought?”

“You are the daughter of one of the most renowned psychoanalyst in the country!”

“Right?” Nawel laughed. “I expected that to count for something! The whole situation was very unfair, I thought at the time. I had counted on nepotism, and even that had failed me.”

Mary shook her head. “People have no respect for tradition.”

“Anyway, I realized it would take some time before I could earn a decent income,” Nawel continued, “and I didn’t want to go back living with my parents. So I took a part-time assistant job at the RATP offices in Algeria.”

Anne nodded. “Your French is perfect.”

Nawel smiled. “I will happily forego modesty for truth – yes it is. So. Every morning, I met with William – who was Mr. D’Arcy at the time, of course, or ‘sir.’ Most days the meetings were crowded, but sometimes it was just the two of us. He was always so dry, so cold. To be honest, I thought he despised me. But somehow… we’d always end up working on the same projects. Projects he was in charge of.”

“And you didn’t suspect anything?” Elinor asked.

“No! For me, he was the man who had insulted my home and said I was not good enough to work with him – that a psychology diploma was useless and not what the position needed…”

“Well, to be fair…” Emma began pointing out, but Nawel protested:

“I speak five languages! And the job was all about communication, no need for an engineering background… Anyway, I was killing it – see how modesty had never been my issue – and then D’Arcy had to leave for Saudi Arabia again. When he came back, four weeks later, he noticed I was not around anymore. He didn’t see me for one week… Two weeks… But as nobody commented on my absence, he didn’t dare ask…”

“And everybody hated him anyway, right?” asked Emma.

“Well, nobody shared office gossip with him, at least. So finally, one evening – it was pretty late – he asked the cleaning lady why I was not coming to work.”

“The cleaning lady?” Marianne repeated.

“Yes. I know. But that’s what happened. And Nabilah told him I got married.”

“ _What??_ ” Everybody exclaimed – except Emma, who had a smug smile, because she already knew the twist.

“Married?” Marianne repeated.

“Yes,” Nawel continued. “And William replied – to Nabilah – he said: ‘What? But she should have married _me_ …”’

Elinor was flabbergasted. “He said that?”

“Yes.”

“To the cleaning lady?”

“Yes.”

“But…”

“It is so interesting from a psychological standpoint,” Anne intervened, “and yes, I know I am talking to a psychologist. He must have received such a shock. For a private, proud man… To utter such a thing… in front of someone he didn’t know… ”

“He is very repressed,” Nawel commented.

“Oh my God, I know just the type.” Mary rolled her eyes. “You said he was from a traditional, rich family… Catholic military school, right?”

“Sadly, yes.”

Mary shook her head. “Don’t be mad at me, Nawel, but I hate your guy already.”

Anne furrowed her brow. “But, Mary, wasn’t Edmond exactly…”

“NO NO NO!” said Emma in a very loud voice. « Anne, don’t you know? We NEVER pronounce that name aloud. It is THE LAW. Mary’s law.”

“Yes, or we say ‘Voldemort,’” Elinor explained.

“That part of my life never happened,” Mary stated. “Erased, the Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind way. So please, no mention of Voldemort ever again.”

“Mary,” Nawel protested, “sorry to go all professional on you, but trying to repress a painful experience is actually not the best way to…”

“Shut the hell up, darling. And by that, I mean, please continue with the story.”

“Fine.” Nawel smiled, “Well, you know Algeria. Of course, Nabilah is a distant cousin. And of course she related the conversation to me the next day. But I didn’t believe it – well, I believed D’Arcy had actually pronounced those words, but I chalked it to a strange, lame joke. Then I came back to work…”

“No NO NO wait!” Elinor interrupted. “You had gotten married? To whom?”

“To Wickham. Malekh Wickham. Remember the picture I send you guys?”

“The guy on the private beach? With the yellow swim trunk?” Mary smiled. “Of course I remember.”

“We all remember,” Elinor said. “It was a very suggestive picture.”

“He was handsome, he was broke, we got married. I was so infatuated, and Malekh was so damn charming, and I was turning 30 and there was a lot of societal pressure… even my sister gently nudged me to ‘open my heart,’ and my mother loved Malekh for some bizarre reason – although he had no money. She thought the fact that he had an American father was so romantic. Malekh had been cheated of his inheritance – well, that was what he told us at the time…”

“But what about D'Arcy?” Anne asked.

“Nothing changed, in appearance at least. I was back at the office. We were still working together. We had interminable meetings. We spent a lot of time in the same room. He was so cold. Sometimes I caught him staring at my ring.”

“That poor, poor man,” Anne whispered.

“He was pretty obnoxious, to be honest. He exasperated me more and more. And one day – we had spent the whole morning together, just the two of us – he said – right there, in the empty conference room – well, basically, he said he loved me.”

The girls were silent.

“He said…” Nawel shook her head. “He said Wickham – Malekh – was a bad man, a dangerous man, and that I should get a divorce. He said that he – could not stop thinking about me. That he couldn’t stop looking at me. His declaration – he was so very passionate. Very…”

Nawel paused for a moment.

“But before, you swoon, Anne… He also explained that he had not declared himself before because I was so inferior to him – ok, he didn’t use the word ‘inferior,’ but it was implied – that his family would disapprove – because I was Algerian – the words ‘former colony’ were actually uttered.”

Mary’s eyes were wide. “You are kidding.” 

“He didn’t stop there. I was Muslim, or at least from a Muslim family – which apparently should be have been a deal breaker. I had an ‘assistant job.’ He said that his friends wouldn’t understand. That ‘expats generally don’t end up married to natives.’”

“Natives?” Elinor was aghast.

“That is not a romance, that is a horror story,” Mary protested. “Tell me that he is not ‘the Prince’. That you are still happily married to Wickham.”

“’Natives?’ Elinor repeated. “No, seriously, he actually said that?”

“Yep.”

“So what happened?” Marianne asked, her phone completely forgotten.

“What happened is that I rejected him – and was pretty insulting myself, I’m afraid to say. I said he was racist. I said he was elitist, spiteful, heartless – that nobody could stand him – that I hated his guts – it was very, very bad. After that, I didn’t see him anymore. I don’t know how he managed it, but starting that day, we were never in a meeting together.”

“How heartbreaking,” Anne whispered.

“He deserved it! He deserved all of it!” Mary grumbled.

“He made a mistake,” Anne protested. “Everyone does.”

“And as it happened, I had also made a huge one,” Nawel continued. “Three months after, I was divorcing Wickham. That is why I never mentioned my marriage to you guys – only to Emma. I felt so stupid. So used. Everything D’Arcy had told me about Malekh was true. He was dangerous, and he had lied about… about everything. Anyway… Months passed. My practice was doing much better, so I quit my job at the RATP – but Charles, the director, hired me right back again, as an independent consultant, this time. My title was… ‘Communication facilitator.’”

“What the hell is that?” asked Elinor, laughing.

“Basically, lobbying. D’Arcy was now the head of a huge project of renovation of the entire subway. I was helping maintaining good relationships between the RATP and the Algerian government – that’s where my father’s name was helpful again…”

“Yay, nepotism!” Emma intervened. “But I disapprove. There can be only one genius lobbyist in this group.”

“You are a genius lobbyist in England, Emma,” Elinor protested. “Can you be a genius lobbyist in Algiers?”

“I can be whatever the fuck I want,” Emma stated, imperial, and Elinor shook her head.

“You scare me sometimes.”

“The Algerian government was not helpful,” Nawel continued, the French administration wasn’t either, and we were stuck in between – D’Arcy, Charles and I. So we were thrown together a lot, on equal terms, this time. I was not an assistant anymore. D’Arcy was… very polite. Very respectful. Very distant.”

“I suppose we can’t blame him for that, at least,” Mary grumbled. ”Considering.”

“Nope,” Nawel said. “And I was slowly realizing I had made another huge mistake.”

“By refusing him?”

“Yes. Remember when I had said that everybody hated D’Arcy? I couldn’t have been more wrong, actually. People on the renovation project adored him. The engineers, the architects, the workers… Turned out he was stern, but fair, and dedicated… He worked a lot, and was very loyal to his team…”

“You mean, he was condescending to actually _talk_ to the natives?” Mary quipped.

“Aw, I should not have said that word!” Nawel cried. “Now you are going to hate him, Mary.”

Mary’s father was English – a very rich and influential lawyer – but her mother was French, of Vietnamese origin, so the “former colony” mention did not sit well with her daughter. 

“You are right, I do hate him,” Mary stated. “But please, go on.”

“I loved my job,” Nawel explained. “I was good at it. And the lobbying brought me new clients for the practice – important ones. So suddenly I was making money… ”

“Yay, money!” It was Anne’s turn to cheer.

“And suddenly Wickham wanted all of it. See,” Nawel explained, while the others leaned closer again, “we were not divorced _yet_. The process was ongoing – but we had been separated for almost a year – and well, long story short, Algerian law does not favor women. It was a nightmare. To give him what he wanted, I would have had to sell the practice, to give him access to all my bank accounts. And Wickham began to say that he would not divorce after all. Why would he, now that I was earning a good living, right? And he… he actually threatened me… In private… Saying that if we didn’t stay married… things could happen to me, or to my younger sisters… that nobody would ever be the wiser… ”

“Oh God,” Elinor whispered.

“I was saved by a kickass lawyer. Charles talked to me privately one day, explaining that the RATP gave ‘judicial protection’ to its employees… “

“But,” Mary protested, “you were a consultant. Not an employee.”

“Yes, of course, but I didn’t question what should have been obvious. I was so scared, and the lawyer was so efficient… ruthless… He took everything in hand, and suddenly Wickham was out of my life – actually, he left the country, I never really knew why – and the divorce was final. It was a sort of miracle. I only learned later – much later – than D’Arcy had paid for all of it. And made everybody swear that they would never tell.”

Anne put her hand on her heart. “Aw.”

“Your knight in secret shining armor!” Marianne commented.

“He saved you with money,” Mary protested. “Big deal.”

“Well, Mary,” Emma said. “Before dismissing money, consider what would have happened if he hadn’t. Saved Nawel, I mean.”

Mary sipped her glass with a dark look. “How generous of the rich white man to help the sexy savage. With the fine eyes and the big boobs.”

“Oh, is it ‘savage’ now?” Elinor commented.

“You forget the diplomas,” Nawel protested. “Please. I am all boobs and diplomas.”

Mary gave a theatrical gesture. “Savage, native, indigenous female… Please choose your colonial nomenclature.”

“I like ‘savage’ best,” Emma decided. “It invokes visuals of naked bodies and fire and… Strangely sexual barbarous acts.”

“Naked bodies and barbarous acts, so not the D’Arcy way,” Nawel mused. “Well, not at first. Now, when we are alone…”

Everybody whistled and cheered till Anne made them stop. “Shut up! So! Nawel, what happened next?”

“What happened next…”Nawel hesitated. “What happened next is that I fell head over heels in love with William. And I didn’t even know about the lawyer at the time. I just… We were always working together… I learned so much about him. He was so honest. Such a good friend – to Charles, to his colleagues. He never lied – not that I noticed at least.”

“He lied about the lawyer,” Mary pointed.

Emma laughed. “We’ll give him that one.”

“He was – he is – very educated, very interesting,” Nawel continued. “And he even has a great sense of humor – a very dry, deadpan one – that I didn’t notice at first, but it is definitely there. And I… ok, are you ready for the romantic, corny part?”

“Yes please!” Marianne cried, while Elinor smiled and Mary rolled her eyes.

“I realized I was in love, really in love, for the first time. Wickham was – I don’t know what Wickham was, but now, with D’Arcy, I… I felt… it was painful. Seeing him every day, knowing that I had missed my chance. I could not sleep at night.”

Nobody commented. Nawel continued: “So you see, Elinor, that discussion we had, when I was nineteen… I couldn’t have been more wrong.”

“Are you biting your tongue?” Elinor asked with a glint of amusement in her eyes. “That’s what I told Nawel at the time,” she explained. “I said, ‘One day, a man will catch your eye, and you will bite your tongue.’”

Nawel laughed. “I’m biting! Definitely biting! But in a metaphorical way, please.”

“I’ll allow it.”

“So?” Anne asked again.

“So… Nothing. Time passed, the renovation project was going well, and I began to think… that maybe D’Arcy still liked me after all.”

“Why?” Marianne asked.

“I don’t know how to explain. The way he looked at me sometimes… or the way he avoided looking.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Mary protested.

“It totally does!” Anne claimed. “It’s the little things…”

“Yes,” said Nawel, blushing. “The way he… gravitated to me. The way he always gave me the first cup of coffee… And never forgot the sugar… I know it sounds ridiculous.”

“It doesn’t,” Anne cried.

“It does,” Mary countered.

“They are married now, aren’t they?” was Anne’s retort. “So the coffee _was_ meaningful.”

Mary didn’t answer and Nawel continued: “I began to hope. My heart skipping a beat each time our eyes met – I told you it was going to be corny. I was looking at him – and thinking, you know… Maybe, just maybe…”

“You should have spoken,” Marianne said. “Told him how you felt. You should have rung at his door, clad only in black lingerie.”

“Or, totally naked,” Elinor said, pouring herself some more wine. “Be sure to send a clear message.”

“I definitely should have,” Nawel said. “But education is a bitch. Yes, I come from a not too religious, not too traditional family… But still.”

“And then?” Anne asked.

Nawel hesitated. “And then – one day, we talked, he told me he still loved me, we got married, _voilà_.”

“Whaaat?” protested Marianne. “Is that all?”

“Yes. My story ends there.”

Elinor frowned. “Are you kidding?”

“Please never become a writer,” Mary protested. “Your endings suck.”

“It’s just… What happened is private,” Nawel explained – a little flustered. “And uninteresting anyway.”

“ _You_ know more, right?” Elinor asked Emma.

“Not much.”

“So you just got _married_ ,” Mary said disapprovingly to Nawel. “Blindly, to a guy you hardly knew. No living together for a year as a test drive or something.”

“Well, when it comes down to it, we’re both pretty traditional,” Nawel answered with a smile. “And it was… It was just… We were… We just both really wanted it.” 

Marianne was still listening intently. “But what about his family?”

Nawel shrugged happily. “Oh, they hate me. When William introduced me, they threatened to disinherit him. They all behaved pretty badly, except his younger sister – she is so sweet – we’re growing very close. But you know,” Nawel added with a confident smile, “I am a ‘communication facilitator’ after all. I will seduce them, it’s just a question of time. In the meantime, I’m opening a practice in Paris…”

“And William’s sister is going to intern with me,” Emma explained. “I have been asked to help her overcome her shyness.”

“Oh, is she the new Harriett?” Anne asked, eyes twinkling.

“Definitely.” Emma smiled. “Georgiana is the new Harriett.”

Mary leaned back in her chair. “I don’t care. I still dislike the guy. I’m glad you’re happy, Nawel, but love doesn’t erase racism.”

“It was more like, classism,” Elinor mused, to which Mary answered:

“When race is a factor, they’re inseparable.”

“I don’t necessarily agree,” Elinor protested, and the two women got into a heated debate, which obviously achieved no clear resolution. Eventualy Mary turned to Anne:

“What amazes me is that he was still in love with Nawel after what, a whole year? A year and a half? Unrequited love, for someone who violently rejected you? I am sorry, but that is _not_ healthy.”

Anne laughed. “You’re barking the wrong tree. Remember my story?” Anne had recently become engaged to the love of her life, a dashing Russian captain, after a separation period of eight years.

“I have to admit,” Emma commented, “that since your happy ending, Anne, I will think twice before dispensing to anybody my sage love advice – I mean, think about it, girls. For years we told Anne ‘will you fucking move on!’ and then we told her ‘you have to accept he’s dead!’ when Alexey was MIA, and then, when he came back and all but ignored her, we were all ‘he’s just not that much into you’… and… look at the result.”

Anne’s cheeks had turned pink. “Well, I didn’t move on, Alexey wasn’t dead, and he is… still very much into me,” she whispered, with a shy smile. “So now, I’m happy.”

They all looked at her with affection, and then the conversation turned to Mary’s latest conquest. She was having a hot, steamy affair with a man five years younger, “His name is Henri Tilnet,” Mary explained, “and yes, I know he’s got the same name than my brother, but there’s nothing oedipal going on there so don’t even start. Henri is extremely clever, totally hilarious, and he just quit the seminary cold turkey, if you can believe it. He discovered he is bisexual, and very much into sex after all, and…”

… and Mary’s story was all very funny, and very well told, but Nawel’s mind was drifting – to Algeria, to the conference room… to that period where, like Anne, she could not move on – when she was stuck – thinking that D’Arcy was just not that into her anymore, and that happiness was forever out of reach.

But still, there were – indications – she could not totally despair, even though he remained silent and formal. There were little shards of hope:The fact that William’s schedule seemed to fit so smoothly with hers, so that they often ended up at the same place at the same time – the way he listened to her – the way he held the door for her – the way he – oh, forget it, sometimes you just feel there is something there, it doesn’t have to be rational – so Nawel tried to respond with hints of her own, she… brought him coffee (with milk,) or, yes, she held the door – sure, maybe it was ridiculous, but what could she do? How could she show him – she remembered that look in his eyes when she complimented his handling of a union dispute – that expression on his face for a fleeting moment – then he went back swiftly into “neutral mode.”

And then came that day.

The renovation project was almost over. Nawel and her team (she had a team now) had decided to take pictures and do some filming inside, to show the “important people” how great it all looked and how smoothly it all went – lobbying, remember? So they were walking underground, in the tunnels, all five of them – and ok, maybe this whole underworld trip had really been organized because Charles had such a huge crush on Jeanne, the nice new urban planning intern from Paris, anyway, there was some turning around and some filming and then it was getting late but for some unclear reason D’Arcy thought it would be useful for Nawel to get some images of the new tunnel which was being dug farther south, or maybe it was Nawel’s idea – anyway Charles and Jeanne and the others just wanted to get home, so D’Arcy and Nawel just went boldly in the tunnel alone.

It was dark.

The tunnel was endless, and completely silent.

They both were completely silent.

The ground was uneven, with a lot of pebbles and metal and some construction machines lying around, so he offered her his arm – he knew the place much better – she took it.

They kept walking. In perfect silence. For a long time.

Then she stumbled, lightly – on something – in the darkness, he held her, “Be careful, my love,” he whispered.

There was the slightest pause. She felt him freeze. Realizing what he just said.

A silence. They resumed walking.

Only a few steps, before he stopped again, right there in the dark.

“Listen,” he started, his tone unsteady. Another silence. “I am sorry. I shouldn’t have said… I…”

His voice faltered. Nawel couldn’t pretend anymore. “Don’t… Don’t apologize, please…” she whispered. “I am the one who should… I want to thank you for the lawyer – for all you did,” she continued. “I know you didn’t want me to know, but I learned the truth and…”

He was looking at her – she supposed – in the darkness.

“And I was wrong,” she finally continued, “I was so wrong, about everything. I was…”

She lost her voice. They stayed immobile, for a while – in total obscurity.

“Listen,” he said again. Then, nothing.

He started again.

“Obviously, I still… I mean… If you wanted…” he whispered, his voice almost inaudible. “If you wished…”

Silence.

She leaned toward him blindly – her hair caressed his shoulder, her hand searched, found his cheek, she tried to kiss him, fumbled, brushing his neck – she felt him catch his breath – then somehow he found her in the dark – kissing her desperately – his hands framing her face, they fumbled backwards, in the obscurity, till she had her back on the wall – still kissing blindly, and somewhere there was a town and people and a world but for now it was only the two of them, and it lasted for an eternity – then she invited him into her apartment, but he gallantly redirected them to his – which was much bigger – and traditional or not, they spent the weekend in bed – apologizing and having sex and apologizing again and then more sex and there was never any awkwardness or doubts about the future, on Sunday afternoon it had already established that she would go back with him in Paris and they would both settle there – it was crazy, on hindsight, how – how they both knew that was _it_ – the decisions they made – the things he told her in that bed – whispering words of love in the night – it was…

“No, no – nobody’s leaving! Nobody’s crossing my threshold while there’s still champagne in that fridge!” Emma was saying, and she poured a new round of alcohol – while Elinor was trying to explain to Marianne what a “seminary” was. Yes, Mary had just finished her very, very sexy story – but then Nawel’s husband, William D’Arcy in person, came to pick up his wife – they were taking the Eurostar back early the next morning.

Of course the attention was all on him, and when he left with Nawel the girls decided they were not that impressed. Sure, he was very tall, and very handsome, but he seemed so cold – “stuck up”, Mary stated, only Anne jumped to his defense, saying how his eyes had softened as soon as they fell on Nawel and “how would you feel, Mary, if you entered a room with five men who were all weirdly fixated on you,” … and then the conversation turned again.

Nawel and D’Arcy were walking to the car – he had his arm around her waist – it was a cloudy night.

He asked her if she had fun with the girls, she told him they talked about destiny – “Do you think it was fate, the way that we met?” she asked, adding, laughingly, “do you think it was written in the stars?”

He always thought before answering a question and this was no exception.

“No, I don’t,” he finally stated. “I like the idea that it was not written. That we had to make it happen.”

“You mean that we had to want it? That it was a conscious decision from both of us?”

“Exactly. It was so close,” he added after some more thought. “We almost missed… everything.”

She smiled. “That would have been a shame.”

“It would have,” he said, holding her just a little bit closer.

“But to be honest,” Nawel started again when they arrived to the car, “it got to a point where – I think we were both determined. If we hadn’t settled things in that tunnel, I would have shown up at your doorstep naked.”

He looked at her, thought for a moment, and nodded. 

“Perfect plan.”

“So what have we learned?” Elinor asked, back at Emma’s apartment. “Was it fate? Was it destiny? Has the chorus reached a decision?”

“We learned,” Anne cried, “to always trust your emotions – and that true love will prevail.”

“Are you kidding me?” Mary laughed. “It’s exactly the opposite! Nawel trusted her emotions and ended up married to _Wickham_. And then,” Mary smirked, “she married a Rich Racist Stuck-Up White Guy. So what we learned is, make money, never get married, and sleep around.” 

“It was fate,” Anne protested. “D’Arcy closed his eyes and his fingers landed on Algiers.”

“And had his finger landed on Moscow, Rich Racist Stuck Up White Man would be married today to a witty Russian girl named Antonina. Who would be telling the story to her girlfriends right now, around a vodka bottle.”

“I don’t believe it,” Anne said sternly.

“I don’t either,” Emma said. “No pretty sophisticated moscovite would drink Vodka when there’s French crémant to be had. But,” she added, “fate or not, believe me, Nawel is very happy.” Emma drank a sip of champagne “And yes, the moral of the story is clearly NOT to follow your gut. The first guy is generally all wrong for you. Especially if he is charming and silver tongued, and,” Emma added, looking at Marianne, “especially if he doesn’t answer your tweets.”

Marianne looked at her phone, then at Emma, then at her phone again.

“And I know when I’m talking about,” Emma added. “There was a Frank in my life, before George… He was irresistible. And sleeping with another woman the entire time.”

“Shall we call him Voldemort as well?” Mary asked.

“No, I never really cared that much,” Emma answered. “But the secret is, Marianne, you’ve got to look for the trustworthy one. How does this ‘Brandon’ guy look?”

“He’s old,” Marianne protested.

“He’s five years older than you are,” Elinor protested. “That’s not retirement age yet.”

“Picture, now!” ordered Emma, snapping her fingers. Marianne began to look for Brandon’s Tinder profile, and the girls all leaned toward the phone.

Emma smiled. “Let’s see what we think of this one.”


	2. The True Love's Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a variation of a wonderful WONDERFUL story by Bookpirate, called “I'll still feel the same (you will too.)" I loved her universe so much I asked her if I could do a variation of her tale, and she said yes! 
> 
> My story is independent, so you don't have to read Bookpirate's story first, but you should, because it's so great. :)
> 
> You can find it here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/4504794/chapters/13675480

_**Lizzy has been turned into a frog. Only a True Love's Kiss can lift the curse. Darcy has dragged Frog-Lizzy from bar to bar to help her to find her true love, before finally kissing her himself. She turns human again, and… Here we go!** _

*

*

The first thing Darcy did when Lizzy’s metamorphosis happened was to close his eyes – because, of course, when you are a frog and you turn human again, you do it stark naked. 

So… Yep. Right. Naked Lizzy, on her couch, in her apartment - in his arms. Darcy stood up brutally and took a step back, stayed frozen there for a fraction of second, then fetched the “clothes and toiletries” emergency bag Jane had prepared in case Lizzy met her true love in a bar, and ended whole and nude before an appreciative audience.

"Don’t move," Darcy said – maybe he stammered a little. "I'll get your robe." The bag was on the dinner table; he scrambled to get the garment out, his hands trembling slightly – it was a lovely black and ivory silk piece, bought by Jane after the curse for exactly such an occurrence. Darcy handed it to Lizzy, forgetting to avert his eyes – she was standing now, naked, gorgeous – all embarrassment, luminous skin and chestnut hair – around her head obviously – but also… He turned away and stared resolutely at the window. 

(See, Fitzwilliam Darcy was cursed, but he didn’t know it yet.)

"I will let you, huh, get dressed,” he whispered.

"I am decent now," Lizzy announced in a small voice, after a few seconds.

He turned again, and slowly took the sight of her – in flowing silk, with that emotion in her eyes, "God, Darcy, thank you,” she whispered, “I mean, I don't know how I can ever repay you. You, you saved my life..."

"I saved you from a few more weeks of amphibian existence," he stated, as coldly as he could. “Quite a different feat. I would have convinced the warlock to reverse the curse eventually.”

Lizzy shook her head. “Oh no – I was going crazy in there, believe me. I was...” She hesitated. “I… Fuck, you know what I need?"

"What?"

"Coffee. I need strong, black coffee. When you are a frog, you don’t get coffee. Do you want coffee?"

"Ah, hum, no, thank you," Darcy whispered. His head was hurting. Or spinning. Or both. He had kissed Elizabeth Bennett and reversed the curse. With a True Love's Kiss. And it had worked. Which meant...

Darcy was a magician who _specialized_ in curses. He knew what that meant. What that should mean.

Lizzy got the coffee started. Then there was the most awkward pause. 

She was looking at him. He was looking at her. 

"Are you sure you don't want…" She gestured toward the machine.

"No." He hesitated. His heart beating so fast. 

He should… He should tell her… He should ask…

"Oh my God I've got to call Jane!" Lizzy cried, before beginning to frantically search for her phone, “and my parents, and oh, Darcy, I want to thank you again, I..."

Her robe slid just a little, revealing fascinating items in the, hum, general chest area, and Darcy decided to flee. 

"I don't want to intrude," he stated, “you have a lot of people to talk to. “

He almost ran to the door, and then to the street, and then to his car, and soon he was back to the solitude and darkness of Pemberley mansion – Pemberley lab, Pemberley lair, whatever you want to call it – anywhere that was far, very far away from a very naked, very beautiful, very grateful, and very emotional Elizabeth Bennett. 

 

**

That night, Charlotte showed up at Lizzy's apartment with an I-am-glad-you-are-not-a-frog-anymore bottle of champagne. Jane was already there, preparing sophisticated dip with some magical herbs she had harvested on a solstice night during a full moon, and that she kept for the important occasions, to gave the _aperitivo_ a little fairy taste. 

"To being human!" announced Lizzy, opening the bottle. "A human with legs and breasts and feet and a voice... There's nothing like it!"

The cork popped, champagne flew up everywhere and Charlotte made a lazy gravity spell with her left hand to lead the liquid back into the glasses, before adding a nano-stars effect in the air to make it more festive. 

"To being human!” she repeated. “And women! The elite of the species!”

They toasted, before Jane gently pointed, “We owe Lizzy’s restoration to a man.” 

“Lizzy, you said you were happy to have a voice again,” said Charlotte, ignoring the protest, “but that is not a human specialty. Talking frogs do exist.” 

"I suppose it would have been too easy," Lizzy answered. "The warlock wanted me to suffer."

"Speaking of which," Charlotte commented, continuing the conversation they had on the phone two hours before, "of course he loves you."

"The warlock?"

"Darcy."

Lizzy shook her head. "I was naked in his arms after a True Love's Kiss. And you know what he did? Nothing."

Jane took a new sip of champagne. "He is shy.”

"Shy? God knows I'm head over heels in love with the guy, but believe me, he generally has no difficulty making his opinions known."

"He might not be timid about _opinions_ ,” Jane countered, “but opening his heart is another matter.”

Lizzy leaned back on the couch. “Oh, Jane… I want to believe you – I want to – but… I don’t know. I mean, he laid his feelings down very clearly, and very insultingly, at Huntsford."

"And you violently rejected him. No wonder he's being prudent now."

"For Crowley’s sake,” Charlotte interjected. “Why are we still talking? He loves you, and you love him. There is NO room for interpretation. Mutual love is how a True Love's Kiss works! It is the only way to lift a True Love's Kiss Curse! In fact, let me throw the Grimoire at you,” she said, standing up and walking to the shelves, while Lizzy protested, 

“What if… he _did_ love me, before, and the spell picked up on that? His affection from one year ago?”

“This is not how a TLK works,” Charlotte said, slightly exasperated. She turned the pages. “There. ‘For the True Love's Kiss to work, the affection has to be present, ardent, mutual, and exclusive.’ See? Present. Ardent. Mutual. It’s like a Barbara Cartland story in there.”

Jane refilled their champagne glasses. “Charlotte is right. Lizzy, you have no nothing to fear. He does love you – I mean, it’s science.”

“It’s not science,” Lizzy protested. “It’s magic.”

“Magic _is_ a science,” grumbled Charlotte, still perusing the Grimoire. “Stop whining. The kiss worked, ergo, he loves you. The End.” 

“But then why has he not...” Lizzy phone beeped. Her heart leaped in her chest – she knew who it was before even looking at the screen – intuition is the first thing you learn to develop in Magical Perception 101. “Darcy,” she whispered to the others. “He says, ‘We have to talk. Are you free for dinner this evening?’”

“There you are!” Charlotte exclaimed. “Problem solved. God, kids these days. Making sex so fucking complicated.”

“Love,” Jane corrected. “This is about love, not sex.”

“That too,” Charlotte answered, watching as Lizzy stared at her phone, all... Lizzy-like, meaning: unsure, ready to make bad decisions and to make very simple things very difficult. Charlotte leaned in her direction. “Eliza Bennett, what is happening in that stubborn brain of yours? Why are you not answering the man, most enthusiastically?”

“Because,” Lizzy said, embarrassed, “maybe it’s not a date. Maybe he wants to talk about the warlock, about how to prevent the frog thing from happening again.” 

“Just kill me now,” was Charlotte only answer. 

“Have you tried the TFWTFIHT app? said Jane, and both Charlotte and Lizzy looked at her incredulously. 

_The Fuck, What The Fuck Is He Thinking?_ was an illegal app. Magical, and very efficient – which was the reason why it was illegal. You applied it to a text or a What'sApp (didn’t work on Apple or Google Mail, their anti-sorcery systems were too powerful) and the app told you the feelings of the person texting you. Price, 25 dollars, downloaded a lot by teenagers (and Jane, apparently.) Also very useful in a business context.

“Jane,” Lizzy laughed. “You tried it? You broke the law! I am so impressed.”

“I am... I was... It was when Bingley was not speaking to me anymore,” Jane explained, averting her eyes. “I was, hum, a little desperate to know what he was thinking. And when he came back, when he texted, I... You know.”

“I am so very proud of you,” Charlotte commented. “So? Did it work? What did the App said?”

Jane turned a becoming shade of red. “It said… It was... It was all good,” she whispered. “Very good. But Elizabeth, if you don't want to use it because it's immoral, I would totally under...”

“I want to use it and I want to use it NOW,” was her sister’s answer. “Show me.” 

Two minutes later the app was downloaded; Lizzy displayed Darcy's message and began the process. The three girls watched Lizzy's phone while minuscule flying blue elves with pornographic appendages (the creators had a lot of fun with the graphic design) danced around the phone for a while. But then there was a sad buzzing sound, and the elves disappeared in a whoosh.

“’Process failed,’” Lizzy read. “Darcy’s phone is protected.”

“Of course it would be,” Charlotte groaned. “The guy is a 27th-level magician after all.”

“So, what do I do?” Lizzy muttered. 

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “You go to dinner and you shag him. Please appreciate the fake English accent.”

“Or...,” Jane intervened again. “Have you ever thought about slipping him a truth potion?”

The two other women widened their eyes and Jane colored again.

"What?” she added, a little embarrassed. “I told you – I was desperate. I just had to know.”

**

Darcy, of course was cursed. 

He had realized it with horror, while looking into the mirror, just after sending Lizzy the text. Wasn't it paradoxical? Ironical? For a magician specialized in curses to be cursed himself? 

Or maybe it was, on the opposite, perfectly logical. Like those people who became psychologists because they had something to understand about themselves. Or who became detectives because they had grown up with a family secret. 

So yeah, Darcy’s curse – now that he has seen it he could not unsee it – at first he thought it was Wickham’s doing, of course. He would blame Wickham for everything, global warming and the war in Syria included. But no. The problem was much more serious.

It was a curse of his own making.

First-year stuff, really. Darcy told his students all the time, how it was so easy to spot a curse into another being’s soul, and how difficult it was to see it in yourself. He supposed his curse must have begun early… he was a shy, discreet child. He was not charming, as other kids could be. He did not have a lot of friends – loneliness and social isolation must have created a nice, cosy bed for the curse to be born. Then his parents died. Wickham, his best friend, betrayed him in a thousand non-important ways, before the real betrayal, what he did to Georgiana – Darcy almost lost her – his teen sister, the only one he really loved at the time – and there you were – somewhere in between all of this, the curse must have settled comfortably in his soul, around his heart, like a cold, poisonous snake – stifling his emotions, crushing his heart with despair and solitude, barring the creation of new emotional connections. Darcy had first tried to shake it, he realized now, when he declared his love for Lizzy in Huntsford. Yes, that had been his way to fight the curse, to find a way out – but he went at it so badly – Lizzy rejected him so violently – that the snake only grew. 

“Are you sure you are not on the Asperger Spectrum?” Richard, his cousin, had asked, when Darcy was sitting at his kitchen table, his head in his hands, just after Huntsford.

Darcy had raised his head to mumble, “The Asperger Spectrum does not exist anymore.” 

Thank God for Richard and Bingley, by the way. Friendship was one way to fight the curse, and maybe those two, and Georgiana, were the reason Darcy had not already drowned.

“Or, you know, something similar,” his cousin added with a light wave of the hand. “Or… some social disorder of some kind.”

“Well, primo, _thank you,_ Richard,” Darcy had said with all the sarcasm he could muster. “And secundo – I do not think so. I believe I have... trust issues.” 

“Trust issues are why you start a declaration to the woman you love by saying she is not good enough for you?”

“Oh God,” Darcy had muttered, putting his hands back on his eyes. “Oh, God.”

He was not on the spectrum – he thought, in front of that mirror, thirty-five minutes before his date with Lizzy. Or maybe he was – or “some social disorder of some kind,” but that was only an aspect of it, and hardly the worst. 

No. The curse was strangling his voice, scrambling his brain, preventing him from – telling the woman he adored how much he loved her, even after a successful True Love's Kiss, so here he was, just before an evening with her, and all he could think about, gazing at his pale reflection, was the snake and all the possibilities of rejection and loss.

**

So, it _was_ a date, Lizzy thought. Darcy had chosen an Italian restaurant – expensive and cosy. The food was delicious. He had ordered some wine, then left to say a word to the owner, before bringing back two glasses of champagne with him. 

Yep, a date.

Or not. Because all he talked about were spells and protective rituals. How to protect Lizzy from the warlock. How to protect herself from curses, in general, and amphibian curses, in particular. Darcy even made a speech about magical barriers and shields in _five points_. That he announced, one after the other. “Point one.” “Point two.” 

It was so damn awkward, even the wine didn’t help. Lizzy knew they could have great, relaxed conversations – after Bingley came back, after Darcy saved Lydia, he and Lizzy had hung out all the time, as friends – and it was great – if you except that Lizzy was pining for him like crazy – but it had been really fun, and now, it was horrible.

And made even worse by the arrival of Caroline Bingley.

Caroline entered the restaurant with some friends, spotted Darcy and Elizabeth right away and made a beeline for their table, with a disgusted expression.

“Are you on a date?” she asked directly, no “Hello,” nothing.

“Yes,” Darcy answered. “We are.”

Lizzy's heart fluttered a little, before Darcy turned toward the waiter, who had come to refill their glasses, and said: “The wine is too acidic. And the pasta were sub-par. “

Uh oh. Lizzy instantly understood ¬ and panic began to rise. But Caroline didn’t care about the wine. “This is ridiculous, Darcy” she said, with a dismissive gesture toward Lizzy. “You and her,” she spat, “it would be a misalliance.”

Darcy reacted before Lizzy could stop him. 

“No, it would not be,” he stated, calmly. “There are no social misalliances these days; there are only emotional and intellectual ones. Lizzy and I are equal on those terms. Starting a relationship with you, however, Caroline, would be a true mismatch.” 

Oh God. Lizzy wanted to die on the spot. She tried to intervene, but Darcy was already clarifying, “You are mean-spirited and not that bright.” Caroline stayed petrified, mouth opened, like a trout. “I wonder how you and Charles can come from the same parents. He is generous, open and creative, a true, compassionate human being – all that you are not. In fact, Caroline, your character is…”

“Enough!” Lizzy cried, jumping on her feet. Even Caroline didn't deserve such a dressing down. “Caroline, just – a – a word… Please…” She grabbed the stunned young woman by the elbow and dragged her to the other side of the room, the farthest possible from Darcy. “Don’t worry – he – he is drunk,” Lizzy said quickly, “and – and we were playing truth or dare – and I dared him to say the opposite of what he was thinking for the next 30 minutes…”

“Oh,” said Caroline, putting her hand on her heart, looking so relieved. “Oh. God. Thank God.”

There was a silence. Then Bingley’s sister raised her eyes to Lizzy and added, “You are all wrong for him, you know.”

Lizzy took a pause to think. It was not in her character to be cruel, and she had been heartbroken over Darcy too long to not recognize the same feeling in a fellow human being. But, sometimes truth was the kinder option.

“I think I _am_ right for him, Caroline,” she said softly. “And he is certainly right for me.”

Caroline looked so hurt – then she left in a huff, and Lizzy ran back at the table, ready to come clean – but Darcy was on a roll, and he didn't wait for her to be seated before adding,

“Of course, when I say we are emotional and intellectual equals, Lizzy, I do not mean it literally. I think it is clear than I am cleverer than you are – maybe by a margin of ten, fifteen percent? It really depends of what definition of intelligence we are using, obviously, and you are definitely my superior in emotional intelligence. But…”

“Oh my God oh my God just stop talking,” Lizzy cried, horrified. “Darcy, stop, please. I slipped you a truth potion. I put it in your wine, at the beginning of the meal. I am so sorry. So sorry. Please forgive me. Please.”

Darcy staid stunned for a moment. 

“I am so sorry,” Lizzy repeated, rubbing her temples, “I never should have... I don't know why I... Well I know why I did it, but...” 

“Why?”

Lizzy staid petrified for a moment. “Because...” she stammered. “Because, I wanted to know...”

She stopped again. 

“I really want you naked in my bed,” Darcy said. 

“YES!” Lizzy cried. “Yes,” she repeated in a lower voice, after glancing around worriedly. “Perfect. That is... the perfect solution to this mess. This is great. Let's go.”

Darcy gulped the last of his champagne.

“Excellent.”

**

He took Lizzy’s hand, then he had to let it go to pay the bill, then he took her hand again to lead her to the car, opening the door like a gentleman. He took his place at the wheel – and didn’t move.

“I am trying not to talk,” he explained, after a few moments, in the semi obscurity. “It may be safer.”

“It might be,” Lizzy said, smiling.

"It was not… What I said about intelligence, it did not work in my favor, I suppose," he added in a low voice.

"Darcy, it is my fault. The potion. Again, I am so sorry."

"If it helps, being 15% less intelligent than me still puts you well above average. In the top five percent, I would say.”

She could not help being amused. “I’m not sure it really helps, you know? But thank you for…”

"You are more clever than Georgiana, much more than Bingley, and of course you are spades above your sister Jane," he explained, while Lizzy was hesitating between laughter and horror.

"Oh my God, please, please stop."

"Your friend Charlotte Lucas, though, is an outlier. I would be curious to know..." Darcy stopped, and looked at Lizzy. "I should not have said all this."

"No.”

"But you must be aware of those facts, on some level," he added. Lizzy shook her head.

"I don't classify people I love."

Darcy was silent for a long moment. 

"I can't help to fear," he said after a while, "that I just lost your good opinion, like I did in... in Huntsford. And that... that would be deplorable."

Lizzy turned to answer, but he continued, "I want to add that I am, I think... I mean, I hope... I think that despite those things I say, I... I strive to be a good person."

"You are one of the best persons I know," Lizzy whispered.

There was only silence in the car. Then he looked at her, wordlessly – an eternity passed – she was the one who kissed him first – it lasted a long time, she wondered if it was a True Love's Kiss – or if only the first one counted – but who cared – her heart was racing, she was shivering, when she broke the kiss, he framed her face with his trembling hands before starting again – and it was perfect – just perfect – her heart was beating, and when she embraced him, she felt his – they stayed at least half an hour, in the car, engaged in this extremely pleasant activity, before he breathed, “We’d better – we’d better get home – I mean my home – I believe.”

“Good idea,” she answered, before a last kiss. She could not stop smiling during the ride – then there were in Pemberley, in his bed – and everything was just perfect also.

“I am really going to try to stay silent, this time, at least till the effect of the potion wanes,” he warned her, while unclasping her bra, but for each word he didn’t say, he kissed her a hundred times – and every gesture, every touch, his skin, his eyes – they were – yes – beautiful, and… magic.

**

“I cannot believe I said those things to Caroline,” Darcy said, the next morning, kissing Lizzy’s naked body on the shoulders, on the neck, on the breasts. “Charles will be furious at me.”

“She will never tell,” Lizzy answered lazily. “Not a living soul.” She passed her hand into Darcy’s hair. “How do you feel? I mean, the potion?” 

“I believe I am now quite ready to lie,” he stated, and Lizzy raised up on her elbows with a provocative smile. 

“Try.”

“I never want to see you again.”

“Cute.” 

“I really have a healthy appreciation for Caroline.”

“Not necessarily a lie. The amount of your appreciation for her seems perfectly healthy to me.” 

Darcy’s smile grew a little tentative. “I was lying when I talked about intelligence, yesterday.”

“Oh, that _is_ a clever one,” Lizzy said, laughing, before drawing him nearer, for a long, intimate kiss. “Do you accept my humble apologies?” she added then, more seriously, expecting that he would, again, ask her _why_ she had slipped him the potion.

He didn’t. “You forgive me my misguided comments, I forgive you the rest.”

Lizzy smiled. “Deal. But there is something I want you to know.”

“I am all ears.” There was such a light in his eyes when he looked at her, that it was very difficult not to kiss him again. 

“I am six years younger than you. And still in grad school. So sure, maybe there is still a little discrepancy in our… respective… talents. But I will get older, and wiser. I will learn super powerful spells and I will CRUSH you,” she explained, her smile growing wider.

He nodded with a thoughtful air before slowly leaning down, kissing her temple, and whispering into her ear, “That, my dear, will NEVER happen.”

“Oh, we’ll see. I will train and train for years in secret basements with fancy costumes till I am ready to DESTROY you,” Lizzy answered, stretching, but he didn’t respond to her banter, he was just watching her – with that look – and she felt so happy – so deliriously, wonderfully happy. 

Was there something like a True Love’s Fuck? Because if there was, she had certainly just experienced one. She beamed at him – his eyes were so tender – so she just had to kiss him, and from there things sort of snowballed, and it was almost an hour before they were able to talk again – they had cold pancakes and cold coffee – the kitchen pet genie had prepared a great breakfast, of course, but they had waited too long.

“I suppose I have to leave,” Lizzy said reluctantly, after a while. 

Something passed on Darcy’s face that she could not analyze. There was a silence, and they began to get dressed; Lizzy realizing that they there was still much being unsaid. They were yet to have _that_ conversation – about the future, about the nature of their relationship, about the True Love's Kiss. Suddenly she felt awkward – somewhat vulnerable – and was completely taken by surprise when Darcy turned to her and said, in a very neutral tone,

“Or, you could just move in here for a while.”

Lizzy’s eyes widened.

“Pemberley is a magical organism in its own right,” Darcy explained quickly, “It protects its inhabitants – in the house and on the grounds, of course, but also in a radius of three hundred miles around its main hearth. ‘Portable protective shields,’ Georgiana calls them. Eighth level protection at best, but I do believe they would be enough to counter any – amphibian sorcery attack, so to say.”

“Oh,” said Lizzy – so grateful, so touched – but also a little taken aback by Darcy’s matter-of-fact, distant tone – she hesitated – and maybe he misinterpreted her reaction, because he added in a hurried voice,

“A temporary solution, of course. I am not asking you to move in with me. This is just a rational solution to a conjectural problem.”

“Oh,” she repeated, disappointment flashing on her face – he felt like a fool – the snake stirred – after this, she would surely reject him, so he struck first, adding coldly,  
“It’s not that I necessarily want you here.”

There was a silence – she seemed stunned. Darcy had to walk to the window to hide his disturbance – that was not what he had meant to say – he just wanted to leave her a way out – “I mean,” he managed to utter, looking out at the Pemberley grounds, “it would be more rational… You would be safer in this house.”

Lizzy didn’t answer right away. When he found the courage to turn to look at her – bracing himself – it would be Huntsford all over again – he was surprised to see her sitting calmly on the edge of the bed, watching him, a thoughtful look in her eyes.

She stood up. “Thank you,” she finally said, with a formal, but not unpleasant voice. “This is a very generous offer. I accept with pleasure… Fitzwilliam.”

He stayed silent, under shock – that she had said yes – the atmosphere was so tense.

“I am going home to get my things,” she said. “I will be back in a few hours.”

Then she brushed his lips with hers, and was gone.

**

Elizabeth Bennett was far from a fool. She was perfectly capable of reading socially awkward young men – at least when she was not blinded by unrequited love and her own insecurities. So she was not freaking out, on her way to her tiny, cheap apartment. She was more – intrigued, really.

Because come on – now, she _knew_. Their kisses, in the car. That night they shared. The look in his eyes in the morning. And he _had_ asked her to move in with him – even temporarily – no, he would not fool her with his sudden embarrassed behavior. So, ok, there was still a part of him that was – reserved, ill at ease, reluctant to share – fine. She would kiss him out of his strange moods – starting by tonight – she felt pretty confident now that she would soon learn how to navigate the thousand nuances of Fitzwilliam Darcy – and at this idea, a strange euphoria seized her.

She would be with him. They would share the same bed, the same table, she would – touch him – her heart was running wild – she almost ran into her apartment, and launched a Mary Poppins spell to pack faster – yes, it was very expensive, and almost wiped out her mana reserve, but she could not wait. While all her clothes were flying and dancing their ways into her suitcases, she sent ecstatic texts to Charlotte and Jane to tell them the news – Jane answered with a long, joyful emotional message, and Charlotte just wrote “Duh.” Then Lizzy decided to begin to move stuff to her car; she opened the door and found Darcy across the narrow hall, his back on the wall, waiting for her.

"Hello," he said.

"Hi," she answered, taken aback.

A pause. The music was sipping through.

"You are using a Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious?" he stated, with a nod toward the apartment.

"Yes," Lizzy answered, weirdly embarrassed. "I know they’re costly, but I just wanted to...” Her voice trailed away.

“Those Disney spells are scandalously overpriced,” he stated. “I wholeheartedly support the boycott.”

“Charlotte uses Open Source.” 

“I am not surprised.”

Lizzy nodded, and then there was – again – the most awkward pause.

She was looking at him. He was looking at her. 

“I was wondering – If Pemberley protects its dwellers,” Lizzy started – anything to break this awful silence, “how could Wickham enchant Georgiana?”

The way Darcy’s face changed at the mere mention of Wickham had always been fascinating. Even now, hate, pain and repulsion flickered on his features before he regained control and was his impassive self again.

“Georgie was staying at Ramsgate, at the seaside,” he finally explained. “Still in the Pemberley 300 miles radius – I made her swear an oath that she wouldn’t leave the magic circle before she turned 21. I know how it sounds, but after what happened to our parents…”

Lizzy nodded. Black magic was involved in the Darcys’ deaths – the culprit had been caught and punished, but of course the event had let deep scars in both their children’s psychés.

“Ramsgate was at the limit of the perimeter,” Darcy continued. “And Wickham just happened to pass by. He invited Georgiana for dinner and then for a stroll at the beach. He was with an accomplice – a woman named Young – she was pregnant. Wickham’s baby, maybe – who knows. She pretended to drown – or, maybe she was enchanted too, and Wickham _willed_ her to drown – anyway… of course Georgie rushed to her help… and by doing it…” Darcy’s voice trailed away, but Lizzy understood.

“She left the perimeter,” she whispered. “She stepped in the unprotected area.”

“Yes. And Wickham just… struck.”

Lizzy could hardly breathe.

“That is… That man is a monster.”

“He is,” Darcy said, his voice bland. “I dislike how everybody brandish the word ‘evil’ these days – every manipulative narcissist with some juice is an ‘evil sorcerer’... But in this case…”

He shook his head.

“My God,” Lizzy repeated. “I am so sorry.”

There was a new silence.

An interminable one.

Lizzy’s heart was beating in a strange way. “Did you… You didn’t come here to… tell me this.”

“No.” Darcy took a step in her direction, then stopped. “I came here to fight my own brand of evil.” He took a deep breath. "I was afraid there had been a misunderstanding."

Lizzy’s heart sank. "You do not want me to move in."

"No. I mean, yes. Yes I do. On the opposite," he said too quickly. She looked at him with some confusion, so he added,"I… was afraid I had been somewhat distant during our last conversation, and that you would misinterpret my... I was not sure you would be coming back.”

She could hardly talk. “Of course I was coming back.”

“Yes. Well, good,” he said, his voice rough. “Then I want to assure you – in person – how happy I am that you are going to be... under the protection of Pemberley.”

Lizzy nodded silently. 

“How very happy I am.”

Lizzy nodded again – her heart was now reaching uncomfortable speed.

“Actually,” he began, and hesitated again. “The fact that we... That your curse was broken by our kiss, would seem to indicate that..."

He paused again. Lizzy could not speak. Darcy had a mirthless laugh.

"I checked in the Grygax. After you turned human. They say, for a True Love’s Kiss to work, the feeling needs to be intense, lasting and, hum… reciprocated.”

“‘Ardent, mutual and exclusive,’” Lizzy whispered. “I only have the Little Alchemist at my house. That’s… That’s what it says.”

“Indeed,” Darcy answered, looking away. 

Lizzy’s head hurt. Why – was he not – why were they not in each other’s arms? Why was he so distant – so cold – so apparently cold – when…

“Lizzy, I am cursed,” Darcy breathed.

She started and instantly walked to him. 

"What? How? What happened?" she stammered, putting her hand on his heart to peer into his soul, as a classic magical reading gesture – of course it did not work, Darcy had too many protections in place – but he put his hand on hers, and kept it there.

"It would be long to explain, although I will, of course, if.... If you ever wish to hear it. But… one of the consequences of this curse, is that I am not – it is difficult for me to reach out to others.”

“Is it Wickham?”

Darcy laughed mirthlessly again. “No. I am the only one responsible, I fear.” He had not let go of Lizzy’s hand – she stepped closer and put her other hand on his chest.

“How do we fight it?”

“Nothing original,” he breathed. “You know. Love. Trust. The usual. So...”

She raised her eyes to him and he said in a broken voice, “It won’t come as a surprise, I guess, if I tell you how much… If I tell you I never stopped loving you, not for a moment.”

She lowered her head on his chest. “I love you too,” she whispered.

He held her closer – his hands not totally steady – then lowered all his barriers, so she could step into his circle of protections – laying his soul bare, totally defenseless –so she could do anything to him – they could read each other’s hearts – and there was connection, and there was light, and the snake hissed and withered and died (or maybe he had never existed anyway)…

And thus, the curse was lifted.


End file.
